


Alternative Uses for Furniture

by CloudAtlas



Series: All Hallows Eve 2014, Be_Compromised Style [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint is an idiot, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Natasha Romanov's Arrow Necklace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha can't find the remote. She goes looking and find something else.</p><p>OR: Clint needs to work on his gift giving skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternative Uses for Furniture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frea_O](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frea_O/gifts).



“Clint!” calls Natasha, “where’s the remote?”

“Dunno!” Clint calls back from the kitchen, and _great_. If Clint doesn’t know where it is in this craphole of an apartment, she has no chance of finding it.

Natasha looks in the cubby holes in the table, and wrinkles her nose at the slice of pizza Lucky clearly couldn’t reach. Is it…? Oh yes, that’s definitely furry. Urgh. She continues searching after binning the pizza. Not around the TV, not on the floor, not in that pile of… what _is_ that pile of things?

“Barton! Your place is disgusting!”

“Aliens attacked!” Clint yells back. “I was going to clean it and then aliens attacked!”

Natasha rolls her eyes and, after brief deliberation, shoves her hand between the couch cushions. Nope, nope, nope, _definitely_ not, and then she feels something small and Natasha pulls out from between the couch cushions, not the TV remote, but a small jewellery box.

“What the hell Clint?” she mutters to herself.

Inside is nestled a delicate but highly polished silver necklace with a tiny arrow pendant. She stares at it.

“Clint.”

“What?” he replies, not coming out from the kitchen.

“ _Clint_.”

His head pops around the door and Natasha holds up the necklace.

Clint grins. “You found it!”

Natasha gives him, then the necklace, identical sceptical looks. “It was in the couch.”

“And you found it,” Clint says happily, coming forward. He smells strongly of cleaning products, and it momentarily throws Natasha.

“Are you cleaning?”

Clint gives her an offended look. “Yes. I was going to clean, and then aliens attacked so I couldn’t. So I’m doing it now. There’s no tea for you otherwise.”

Natasha smiles briefly. “Why was it in the couch?”

“So you’d find it.”

Natasha opens her mouth to say something before closing it again. How can Hawkeye be a fantastic tactician when he possesses so little logic?

“Where’s the remote then?” she asks eventually.

“In the kitchen.”

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“You know, when I was small and… with-it enough to imagine the person who’d rescue me – I was about six, you understand. Any older and I’d be either not with-it enough or fully planning to rescue myself – I always imagined them to be a man. A very suave, well-dressed man, with, you know, that heroic jawline and very firm pectorals. Essentially, a Russian Steve Rogers.”

“You wanted firm pectorals when you were six?”

“I was advanced for my age. Also, firm pectorals have an _allure_.”

She pokes him in his wonderfully firm pectoral to demonstrate, and Clint grins at her; the kind of ridiculous grin she adores because it says _I am so happy you’re here with me_.

“Well, you can always try your luck with the _American_ Steve Rogers. I have _connections_ , I can probably rustle up his number for you.”

“Ah, but he wouldn’t hide jewellery in the furniture for me now, would he?”

Clint laughs. “No, probably not. He’d give you flowers.”

“Urgh flowers,” Natasha says dramatically, smiling and turning around. “Now help me put this on.”


End file.
